


Maybe

by sunflower1343



Series: Maybe [1]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower1343/pseuds/sunflower1343
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it's not so bad being wanted by a certain charming blond person, annoying as he is.  And maybe it might be nice to let himself want him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting a Mikhail fic to cheer some friends up. :) This takes place vaguely during the Hong Kong arc. And I wrote it before we knew that Feilong didn't drive. Oops.  
> First posted October 2006.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~

He supposed he shouldn't peek, but he couldn't help it if his table in the country club dining room overlooked the tennis courts. The man just happened to be in plain sight. Never mind that there were at least 20 other players out that evening. It was only logical that his eyes would be fixed on that unnatural blond head of hair.

And then, of course, it would only follow that his eyes would travel downward to the shirt sticking on the sweaty body, outlining a fine set of muscles. He could be forgiven if his breath would suddenly hitch when the shirt lifted at each serve to expose a little of that nicely chiseled torso.

His eyes narrowed. Was that a trail of blond hair leading down...? He realized what he was doing and averted his eyes. He gulped his tea, scalding his mouth. _Dammit._

"Boy! Bring me a bourbon, on ice."

"But sir, you told us never to serve you alcohol –"

"I am telling you to now. Do I need to have you fired and replaced?"

"No sir. One bourbon on ice, right away sir."

The tumbler was set before him, and immediately drained. He felt better instantly. 

"Another."

The second glass was brought, and he contented himself with sipping it. No need to get carried away. It was such a pretty evening, just perfect for relaxing with a drink.

He allowed himself a glance at the tennis courts. No blond people. Good. The world was better off without them.

He was halfway into his third drink when some arms slid about his neck from behind. He'd have removed them, but they felt too nice. It was obvious they meant no harm.

A voice whispered in his ear. "You were watching me. I saw you."

He turned his head and squinted up. "Oh. I'd thought all the blonds had disappeared. Damn."

The eyes looking down into his crinkled with amusement. "Are you drunk?"

"Are you wearing contacts? Your eyes are a strange shade of blue. It's pretty, like the sky."

The Russian laughed, drawing looks from the other patrons. "You _are_ drunk. What brought this on, hmm?"

"It's a nice night to relax. Sit. Have a bourbon. Boy!"

"It's a cliché, but I'd prefer a vodka if you don't mind."

"Vodka tastes like medicine, when it has any taste at all. Have a drink that at least has flavor."

"Well, I certainly don't want anything on my lips that you dislike the flavor of. Is scotch OK?"

Scotch. _He_ drank scotch. "NO SCOTCH."

"Okaaaay." Mikhail turned to the waiter. "I'll just have what he's having."

"Yes sir."

He leaned forward in his chair, speaking intimately. "So, what do you have against scotch? An old boyfriend drink it?"

"Boyfriend? Hah! Traitor maybe. Fiend. Hellspawn. Jerk."

Mikhail's eyes grew wide. "Sounds like quite a guy. Would his name happen to be Asami?"

Feilong beckoned him forward to share the secret. "Some call him that. I call him Dickweed."

Mikhail coughed and quickly covered his mouth with his hand until it passed. "That title doesn't seem up to your usual... eloquence."

"It wasn't my idea. His former pet used it and I picked up on it. It's pretty bad when your lover calls you that."

"You still have that boy?" Mikhail didn't sound pleased. _Tough._

"Yes. He's amusing. It's amusing, knowing it pisses off the Dickweed, that I'm fucking him. It's amusing that it pisses off you, too."

The other patrons definitely stared.

"Do you really want all of Hong Kong to know?"

 _Oops._ He straightened in his chair, then turned and stared them down. "You will forget everything you've heard."

Everyone in the restaurant quickly went back to their meals.

"Works every time." He took another drink, then waved the glass toward the window. "You're pretty good at tennis. You play much?"

"Enough. I'm more interested in the previous topic. Your glare fails to work on me."

"I could be persuaded to throw a few punches. And a few knives."

"Tease. You always say such things and never go through with them."

That struck him as incredibly funny and he snorted bourbon through his nose, which was not. Though Mikhail seemed to think so judging from his laughter.

"Perhaps we should leave. Would you take a walk with me, Liu Feilong?"

He looked at the blond. "I don't know. Is that a Russian euphemism I'm not aware of?"

"Would you like it to be?"

He couldn't help remembering the abs under that shirt. He might very well like it to be, but he wasn't about to admit it so he simply glared.

"Not working. But I get the drift. We can just walk and talk. At least, I can. I'm not so sure about you at this point."

"Fuck you Arbatov. I'm perfectly sober." To prove his point he stood right up and promptly fell over.

He tried to arrange himself into a slightly dignified position the floor of the restaurant, but even he realized it was futile. Mikhail waved off the waiters who rushed to his side. "No, no, he's fine, just tired. He's been up for three straight days working. He just needs to sleep. I'll take care of him."

He was lifted by the strong arms he remembered seeing earlier. His body began to respond. No one had done this since... He felt his face heat and he struggled, but couldn't get free.

"Ssh. You can yell at me when we're out of here. For now just pretend exhaustion."

He hid his face, embarrassed, against Mikhail's chest. When he felt the cool night air he looked up. "You're going to use this against me, aren't you?"

Mikhail glanced down at him, amused. "Yes, but perhaps not the way you're anticipating."

"What do you mean?"

Mikhail set him down on his feet. They were in the parking lot. The streetlamps hurt his eyes, so he looked down. That made him dizzy and he teetered a bit before falling over, Mikhail catching him. As he grasped onto the man before him to keep himself upright, a hand raised his chin. Mikhail's eyes seemed to glow softly like the lamps. "I mean this."

The lips that met his weren't hard and unyielding, like his last stolen kiss, but they were forceful, not letting him turn away. But they also coaxed and teased, trying to seduce rather than take. He found he rather liked that. It made him feel wanted. 

He was starting to tease back when the flavor of bourbon on the other's lips made him feel queasy. He shoved away from Mikhail's grasp and promptly lost his dinner over the hood of someone's Rolls. A hand stroked his hair back from his face as he leaned there trembling. Another hand offered a handkerchief.

"Was I that bad?" 

"I'm sorry." He wiped his mouth.

"I'm teasing."

"I know. You're going out of your way to be nice, and I'm sorry. What do you want with me Mikhail? Don't you see that I have nothing to offer? My capacity to love was lost long ago." He felt the hand pause and rest on the back of his neck. Maybe the man finally understood.

"Feilong...don't you get it?" He heard a frustrated sigh "What I want is you. Every part of you. From where I'm standing, it looks like everything I want and need. As for you, don't you know that you don't lose the capacity to love? You just lose the will, and maybe the courage. And you can get those back. If you want. And I plan to make you want."

He stood up a little unsteadily, Mikhail supporting one arm. "You're a fool if you believe that."

"Maybe. But fool or not, I'm going to try."

They stood there for a few minutes, both unmoving, both stubborn. Feilong finally sighed. "Can I trouble you to call me a taxi? I have no idea where my car is. I need to get back."

"To the boy?" 

Mikhail sounded peeved. It didn't amuse him as much as it had earlier. He shook his head. "Not tonight. I'm not in the mood."

"I'll take you home." He was about to protest. "To your place, I mean. Just a ride." 

He gave in. He didn't have much choice. "Thank you."

The ride back was silent. He rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes, listening to the radio softly playing some Western songs he didn't recognize. He should be alert, aware of where this enemy of his was taking him but he only felt comfortable. Trust never came easy to him, but for some reason he felt it here.

He only opened his eyes when the car came to a stop and Mikhail switched off the music. "Here we are. Can you make it inside okay?"

"Yes, I believe so. Throwing up tends to have a sobering effect."

Mikhail chuckled. "It did with me. Feilong..."

He turned to look at the other man. The masculine beauty that caught his attention earlier drew him in, but he held himself back. "Yes? What is it?"

"The kiss. Did you hate it?"

He was going to lie and say yes, but in the end he couldn't close that door. "I didn't hate it. But that doesn't mean it's a good idea."

Mikhail smiled, a real smile, and his heart thudded. "As long as you didn't hate it."

He thought maybe his admission was a mistake, but it was too late now. "I didn't."

"So you wouldn't mind another?"

"You wouldn't mind being punched? Not in front of my men!"

"So if we're alone...?"

"Don't you ever give up?"

"No."

He stared at the blond, who calmly stared back at him. _No, you won't, will you?_ It made him feel a little happy. Enough so that he couldn't help what popped out of his mouth, or maybe didn't want to.

"Well then, I suppose there's nothing to be done about it." 

Mikhail's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Saturday. 9:00 pm. Pick me up. You'd best have something nice planned, because it's your only chance. Understood?" Mikhail's mouth was opening and closing. "You look like a tuna. Stop that, or it's off. I don't want to look at a fish face all night."

"All night? Did you say –"

"It's a figure of speech." _The bastard's finally at a loss for words. This is fun._ He got out of the car. "And don't be late. One minute over and that's it." _I'm being such a bitch._

Mikhail leaned toward the open door with a grin and blew him a kiss. "I'll be here. On time. And it'll be a night you never forget."

"Hmmph. I've heard that before." He tossed his hair over his shoulder and strode off into the lobby, trying to ignore the fact that Mikhail's BMW was just sitting there, probably while he did little victory dances in his front seat. He collapsed against the elevator wall when he found himself alone in the car. What had he gotten himself into? 

He looked at his blurred reflection in the car's burnished doors, standing alone, as he had been for seven years. Maybe it was time someone stood next to him. But why did it have to be a fuzzy-yellow-headed Russian? 

_He probably thinks I'm going to roll over onto my back for him. Idiot. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he's the one who ends up with his legs spread. Maybe I'll tie him up for good measure. And spank him._

He snorted softly. His smile lingered as he stepped from the car, his men welcoming him with bows. He waved Yoh off. "Let him sleep. I don't want him."

As he said it he realized it was true. He wanted to touch someone who welcomed his touch, and wanted to return it. Maybe he'd find that this weekend. He wouldn't get his hopes up too much. And as for the fuzzy yellow head, well, maybe he could come to like it.

 

~end~


End file.
